


Dear Diary

by jstabe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: 1_million_words, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jstabe/pseuds/jstabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His dad smiles a little and leans against the door jamb.  “There should be a few more.  They’re your mom’s.  Umm, journals.  Diaries. I don’t know.  Whatever a woman wants to call those things, I guess.  She started them when she found out we were having you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Diary

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: The TW timeline is seriously screwed. We all know this. So I took the facts that A) TW twitter wished Stiles a happy birthday on April 8, B) Stiles told Heather he isn’t 17 yet, and C) TW world was supposed to be in 2011 during seasons 1 and 2 and made Stiles’ birth year 1995. I’m sure this will be Jossed at some point. Jeff Davis, you are a gift, but you can’t add worth a crap. 
> 
> Written for 1-million-words Weekend Challenge. Prompt was this quote from _Inception_ \--"Don't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."
> 
> Beta read by fairyniamh. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

Stiles finds the book when he’s cleaning out the attic. He’s housebound (turns out his dad knowing about werewolves isn’t enough to keep him ungrounded when he turns up at crimes scenes—who knew?) and because his father is evil, he has a list of chores longer than his arm. Scott will turn up eventually, when his dad is safe at work, but for now he’s on his own. He’s about to open the book when his dad pops his head in the door.

“Hey, kiddo, don’t throw…” He pauses when he sees what Stiles is holding. “You found them already.”

“Found what? There’s just the one book, but it doesn’t have a title or anything.”

His dad smiles a little and leans against the door jamb. “There should be a few more. They’re your mom’s. Umm, journals. Diaries. I don’t know. Whatever a woman wants to call those things, I guess. She started them when she found out we were having you.”

Stiles glances down at the book his hand, chest tightening the way it does whenever anyone brings up his mom.

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll find the rest? I won’t throw them away or anything.”

“I know,” his dad says with a nod. He hesitates then says, “You could read them. She wrote them about you.”

“Yeah?”

The Sheriff’s smile widens into something real. “Yeah. She talked to you all the time, even before you were born, but she wanted some things in writing. Not necessarily big stuff, just regular things. Anything that seemed interesting enough for her to write down, I guess. Anyway, she’d want you to read them. If you want to.”

Stiles nods, even though he isn’t sure he wants to read them at all. “Okay, I will. Be careful at work.”

“Will do. Don’t leave this house!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stiles throws over his shoulder, already digging through the box where he found the first book.

* * *

That night, after dinner, Stiles curls up on the couch and starts paging idly through the books. He’d found seven in all, and it isn’t hard to put them in order. He picks up the first one, pausing before he opens it. It’s weird. He wants to see what’s in them, but he doesn’t. Losing his mom his still a raw wound, one that gets poked at enough during his everyday life. Still, dad’s on a double so he can feel free to cry without upsetting him, and just because he starts one, that doesn’t mean he has to finish it. Taking a deep breath, he opens the first one and begins to read.

* * *

Aug 10, 1994 

> Today seems like the perfect day to start this since I went to the doctor and he confirmed it. I’m pregnant! Finally!! Your dad won’t admit it, but I’m pretty sure he’d given up, and now, here you are. Well, not really. I don’t think you’re even the size of a peanut yet. But you will be. Nine months isn’t that long to wait, not compared to how long we’ve been waiting.

Sept 5, 1994 

> Holy God, what idiot decided to call this morning sickness?!

Oct 10, 1994 

> Still sick. Mostly in the afternoon and early evening. I’ve talked to both of your grandmas and nothing they said to try works. Apparently you hate ginger ale and crackers just much as tea and toast.

Oct 15, 1994 

> Finally, food! Well, ice cream and I don’t even care if it’s cliché. Your dad found this brand of vanilla that you approve of and now I can eat in the afternoon. Nirvana has been achieved!

Oct 25, 1994 

> Your dad made the big announcement at work today. I don’t think either one of us was ready to tell people before now. We’ve waited so long for this that it almost doesn’t feel real. Then today I looked in the mirror and saw a little bump. You’re real! Bump-shaped, but real. Your father says I’m crazy, but what does he know?

Nov 2, 1994 

> You moved today! It’s the first time we could really tell. We were getting worried because you’re not very active yet, but the doctor says that’s normal for a first baby. Anyway, you moved, and your dad got teary. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that, but you’re not just anyone.

Dec 12, 1994 

> You’re a boy! I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know or if I wanted you to be a surprise, but your dad was really anxious. He’s dying to get started on the nursery and I know he already had baseballs and footballs dancing in his head. Well, now that we know, on to baby names!

Jan 1, 1995 

> Happy freaking New Year. Where are my feet?!?!?! I swear to God I had them before I went to bed last night. Guess I shouldn’t have been so smug about not needing maternity clothes yet, huh?

Feb 8, 1995 

> Two more months?!?!?!?! God, nine months is an eternity. I want to meet you! And wear shoes again. Mostly meet you, I swear. But shooooooeeeessss!

Mar 15, 1995 

> The nursery is ready, my bag is packed, and your dad has mapped out the quickest route to the hospital (and driven it, in the cruiser, with the sirens BLARING, three times. TODAY.) Now we’re just waiting on you.

April 1, 1995 

> Still waiting.

April 5, 1995 

> Now you’re officially late.

April 8, 1995 

> You’re here! I was going to write down things that led to this moment, but when the first contraction hit, your dad panicked. Got lost on the way to the hospital, panicked. I’m lucky I have a nightgown, let alone my journal and a pen. Oh well. Where were we?
> 
> You’re here! And you’re gorgeous. God you smell good. And you’re so tiny. You have perfect tiny hands and perfect tiny feet and the right number of fingers and toes. Your dad and I checked. Twice. You have this fine dusting of dark fuzz (it’s definitely not hair and thank God you aren’t a girl because we could never braid that) and beautiful, huge, brown eyes. Your dad says they’re mine and that you look exactly like me. I think you look like you.

* * *

Stiles closes the journal and sets it aside, throat tight. He can hear his mom’s voice in his head and it’s awful, but so amazing too because he’d almost forgotten what she’d sounded like. He knows these journals are something he’s going to want to read at some point, but he isn’t ready now. Still, he can’t help paging through them, getting pieces of his life at random.

* * *

July 4, 1995 

> It’s Independence Day. Yay. You still aren’t sleeping through the night. I think you’re broken; your dad wants to take you back and get a refund. It’s zombie land in the Stilinski household.

Oct 5, 1995 

> We’ve finally discovered how to get you to sleep! Unfortunately, it involves driving around for hours. Damn it. Mom and Dad=0. Baby=1.

Dec 25, 1995 

> Merry First Christmas! You slept through the whole thing. So did your dad and me. Stilinski family=1!

June 5, 1998 

> Your dad is off today so I went to lunch with the girls. Came home to find your dad asleep on the couch and you redecorating the bathroom by unwrapping all my pads and sticking them to the walls. Your dad laughed so hard he cried. Men! We’ll see if he’s still laughing when I send him to the store for replacements.

Sept 10, 2000 

> How is it your first day of kindergarten already? I feel like I just got you and now the school district is taking you away. Your teacher is sweet. There were a lot of moms (and dads!) there crying along with the kids, but you were fine. You couldn’t wait to learn! So I saved my crying until I got to the parking lot.
> 
> UPDATE- kindergarten is a bust. You just got home and announced that you are never going back because “They didn’t teach me nothin’. Just stupid colors and shapes and I know that junk. I’ll go back when they start teaching us how to read.”

March 12, 2002 

> It’s almost time for spring break and I can’t wait. School is becoming a nightmare. Thank God they don’t do grades at this age, because I have a feeling they’d be awful. Your teacher says you’re bright, but unfocused. The school guidance counselor agrees. Now they want us to take you to the family doctor. I just… WE just need a break.

Sept 12, 2002 

> This hasn’t been an easy few months. Most of that is my fault. I guess I didn’t want to admit that you needed help I couldn’t give you. And you’re so young. How is medication the answer? But your dad was right; if you needed it, you needed it. And today you brought home your first paper with an actual grade. A big, fat A. Better than that? The smile on your face when you pulled the paper out of your backpack.

Nov 5, 2003 

> You met your best friend today. His name is Scott and he just moved in with his mom. Apparently he is “cool and nice and has video games and can’t pronounce my name so he calls me Stiles so now I’m gonna be Stiles all the time, okay Mom?” Sure kiddo, whatever makes you smile like that is fine with me.

April 19, 2004 

> You came home upset today. You got in trouble at school for the first time in a long time. You and Scott are in a _Star Wars_ phase and at recess, you told everyone you want to be a fighter pilot when you grow up. Jackson Whittemore told you that you were too spazzy to be a pilot and you called him a butthead. You got sent in from recess. It was really hard not to agree with you; sometimes, that boy is a butthead. Unfortunately, son of mine, he’s probably not the last butthead you’ll ever meet. Anyway, I told you not to be afraid to dream a little bigger. You’re going to do amazing things in your life, I know you will.

Dec 9, 2004 

> Your dad and I finally got a look at our future daughter-in-law during tonight’s Christmas concert. You’ve been talking about this girl for weeks. She is definitely going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up; she’s beautiful.

January 25, 2005 

> My hands are shaking so hard I can barely write. Our town suffered a huge loss tonight. There was a fire at a house out in the woods, and almost an entire family was lost. There is an uncle who is so badly injured that they don’t think he’ll survive, and then two of the children. A boy, just six years older than you, and a girl who is a bit older than that. Your father is a wreck. He sat with those poor kids, hoping to hear word of more survivors, but he says it doesn’t look good. He’s finally home now and we’re all tucked into bed together. There’s no way I’m letting go of either of my guys tonight. My heart is shattered just thinking about those poor kids. Especially the boy. I don’t know why. Maybe because I have you, my little man, and I can’t imagine having you in that position. Yes, he’s older. Probably old enough that he thinks of himself as a man. But are you ever old enough to lose your parents?

May 2, 2006 

> The doctor just called; the results of my last physical are in and there’s a shadow on one of the x-rays that he doesn’t like. He wants to recheck it. Lovely. Guess I know what I’ll be doing while you’re at Scott’s. So much for a few hours at the library!

* * *

Stiles slams the journal closed. Between the Hale fire and hearing about the beginning of his mom’s illness, he knows that’s not a book he’ll be returning to anytime soon. He gathers them up and takes them upstairs, makes space for them on his bookshelf. He flops down in his computer chair, spins lazily for a few minutes while he thinks. Turning back to his laptop, he opens the lid and pulls up his word processor.

July 6, 2011 

> Hey Mom. I know I talk to you every day, but maybe it’ll be kinda cool if I have a record, you know? Anyway, Dad made me clean out the attic today and I found your old journals. OMG, I was the cutest kid in the history of EVER! You two were so lucky on the kid lotto. Not that I did that bad on the parent lottery. I mean, werewolves? How many dads would be cool with that?!?!?!


End file.
